


The Spider (and America, and Hammond’s Little Feet)

by downthepub (Finnspiration)



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 15:49:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16813681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finnspiration/pseuds/downthepub
Summary: James is just falling asleep when Richard calls; there's a spider in his room.





	The Spider (and America, and Hammond’s Little Feet)

**Author's Note:**

> The Spider (and America, and Hammond’s Little Feet)  
> Rating: PG  
> Word count: ~4380  
> Pairing: James/Richard, pre-slash (could possibly be read as gen)  
> Summary: James is just falling asleep when Richard calls; there's a spider in his room.  
> Disclaimer: I just made it all up, see.  
> Author notes: Takes place during their visit to America, after the Man-Love incident. All errors are mine. (more notes at end)
> 
> _reposting this from previous a 2013 entry in a Livejournal community._

Despite the nerve-jangling day being chased by angry Americans, James was very quickly close to sleep that night in the hotel room. He had the air con turned all the way up and it made a pleasant droning sound in the background, like a very mild engine. His eyelids were heavy and he drifted deep.  
  
His mobile telephone rang.  
  
He debated. Cursed. Then reached for it.  
  
It was Hammond’s ring. James was not perhaps the most technically adept person in the universe when it came to electronic tablets and mobile telephones and the Internet. But Hammond had fixed it for him one day, his smile big and bright and his eyes flashing, as if it was quite easy. He’d given James individual ring tones for various callers. “So you can avoid Jezza but still pick up when I call,” he said in a conspiratorial voice.  
  
James rarely avoided just one person, but sometimes, it must be admitted, he did choose to avoid everyone, because he simply didn’t wish to talk over the telephone. Face to face was difficult enough sometimes, even with the added context of facial cues and body language.  
  
The ring tones were turning out to be more curse than blessing; now he had the feeling of responsibility, not that he was ignoring the telephone (which could be anyone) but that he was ignoring Andy or Jezza or an old friend; or in this case, _Hammond._  
  
He reached for it, rolled onto his side, and fumbled around for a moment, till he got the right button pressed. He held the telephone to his ear, brushing hair out of his face and grimacing as he got a few strands caught in his mouth. “Yes?”  
  
“James, I need you to come to my room _right now._ ” The edge of controlled panic in his voice had James sitting up immediately.  
  
“Right. I’m on my way. Do you need me to fetch someone?”  
  
“No! Just you. No cameras, and NO Jeremy. Hurry!” Then he let out a sound that could only be described as a squeak. “Oh, do hurry, James! It’s coming closer...!”  
  
“It?” Sleep slid away and James blinked, alert now. “Is this an insect?” he asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing. “You woke me for an insect?”  
  
“It’s—it’s not an insect, it’s a _spider_. It’s the biggest spider in the country, I swear it is. Oh, come on, James!”  
  
James was laughing.  
  
“James, _pleeease!_ I didn’t hesitate when you needed the jump leads in the petrol station, did I?”  
  
James sobered quickly. A tendril of guilt wrapped itself round his heart inside his chest, and squeezed. It was the nagging sensation that the whole frightful experience today (nearly being killed by angry hicks), had been his fault. James and Richard had come up with some good slogans to put on the vehicles, but James, everyone agreed, had taken the cake.  
  
The whole time they were fleeing, frightened and not quite able to hide it, Jezza’s words had played through his head like a sickening refrain: “You’ve just killed your friend.” Because it was the gay thing they went after; nobody threatened them over the ‘Hilary for President’ note. Or the other ones. It was all about the Man-Love.  
  
And he hadn’t even had to try hard. Gripping his free hand into a fist, James gritted his teeth. It wasn’t fair. The other two could say any stupid, irrational or unkind thing they wanted, to each other or anyone else, and never seemed to have to pay for it. (Well there was always the occasional complaint to the Beeb, but never anything _really_ bad happening.) Whereas James held his tongue nearly always, but the one time, the one time he let loose with his clever and dangerous mind, he nearly did get them all killed. (Jezza, Hammond, himself, and the cameramen, too.)  
  
Oh, nobody had blamed him for it. That almost made it worse. The people in charge had even come as near as ever they did to apologising for putting the chaps in such a dangerous position with that challenge.  
  
But it was all James’ fault, and he knew it.  
  
So Richard’s words struck a nerve. James didn’t want to be reminded of Richard running back for him, thoughtlessly brave even as he was skitteringly scared; they all were. Grabbing the jump leads. Rushing to help.  
  
James didn’t want to remember; because his oh-so-clever slogan had nearly gotten his friend (best friend, if he was honest) killed; all because he was irritated with Richard bumping into his car. (Or scraping, or nudging, or bloody _walloping_ it.) But be honest, the cars were all a bit rubbish. They would be lucky to find buyers at the end of the road trip. He shouldn’t care that much; except, in the heat and humidity, and because those two never really stopped with the car-bumping, he had.  
  
“James? Are you coming?” Richard sounded small and scared now. Even though it was only a spider, he sounded as though he was really under siege and desperately needed rescued.  
  
“I’m coming,” said James, angry with himself, and with Richard who could so easily convince him of anything. _Stupid spider. Stupid trip._ “I’ll be right there.” He clicked his mobile telephone shut and dropped it beside his pillow. He swung his pyjama-clad legs out of bed and put on a dressing-gown, belted it tightly like a knight going into battle, and slid his feet into slippers.  
  
He looked around a moment, and then picked up a nearly empty, clear glass jar of honey-flavoured peanuts. One could eat almost anything when on the road and hungry. He’d actually found them rather tasty, if too dry. He unscrewed the yellow lid and carefully dumped the last of the nuts into a little pile on a piece of Kleenex. He tapped the bottom of the jar to get the last of the honey-flavoured dust out, then screwed it back on again and started down the hall towards Hammond’s room. He walked quietly so as not to rouse any of the film crew or Jezza.  
  
He tapped lightly at Richard’s door with his knuckles, leaning nearer to hear if Hammond would call ‘come in!’ He didn’t hear anything, so he turned the doorknob gently and pushed.  
  
The room was bathed in a low, yellow light from a small bedside lamp. Hammond stood on his bed, barefooted, his eyes ridiculously large in the dim lighting, like a cat’s at night.  
  
He pointed wordlessly to a rather large spider in the middle of the floor. Against the pale tan carpet, it did look particularly large, especially with its shadow stretched out long in the low lighting, seeming to meld with it and make it look even bigger.  
  
James made a sound in his throat as he bent down to capture it. “Come on, then. It’s all right.”  
  
“Me or the spider?” asked Hammond, with half a laugh in his voice, but still that scared sound, too. The bedsprings creaked a little as he bounced on the edge of his feet.  
  
“Less talk from the spectators, unless you’d like to do it. Or I could fetch Jezza to help?” he enquired sweetly, as he zeroed in on the spider. It was a precision job, but not a difficult one. The spider stayed still, eyeing him with its numerous eyes, pedipalps waving gently, perhaps trying to decide if James was a giant insect or not.  
  
“Oh, no, no, no. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” The bedsprings creaked harder. “May?” he asked in a smaller-yet voice. “Don’t...don’t let it sting you, all right? I think it might be poisonous. I’d hate for you to swell up and die.” He said it like one trying for their usual gallows humour, but he was still too frightened to pull it off convincingly.  
  
James lowered, lowered, carefully lowered the glass jar, and— “There.” The glass now rested over the spider entirely, keeping it encased as if in a bell jar or tiny terrarium. The star attraction; it really was rather large.  
  
“Now for the lid. Hammond, fetch me a piece of stiff paper or cardboard. Anything thin and flat.”  
  
“He’s stuck? Under there? He can’t get out and sting me?”  
  
James suppressed a sigh. “No, it can’t get out and _bite_ you. See, I’ll hold it down.” He pressed down on inverted bottom of the jar. The glass rim made a round indentation in the pale tan carpet.  
  
Hammond’s room smelled like his own, like the cleaner they sprayed in the air conditioning unit mixed with the detergent used to wash the linens, but also subtly different; he smelled chocolate. Had Richard made use of room service to fetch him candy? He looked up. “Richard?”  
  
“Yes, yes, yes. I’m hurrying. Sorry!” He was off the bed now, looking through his already rather trashed things. “Oh! I know.” He bounded past James (the floor shaking just a bit as he ran), and snatched the Room Service card off the doorknob. “Here.” He was by James now, his breath hot against James’ cheek as he leaned close. “Don’t let it free, will you? Jeremy would’ve killed it.”  
  
“Yes, and teased you for the rest of your unnatural life.” He tilted the jar.  
  
Richard let out a scared squeak and skittered back.  
  
James continued his running commentary. “As you can see, I’m merely tilting the jar the slightest bit so I can get the card under it. Do you see? Then I’ll slid it under, and invert the jar, knocking the spider to the bottom. Then, quickly, I can put the lid on.”  
  
“You never did anything quickly in your life!” Richard’s voice rose. “D’you have the lid? Where’s the lid? Here.” He leaned nearer and snatched it up from the carpet whilst James was still looking around for it. “Don’t lose it—and hurry! If you let it go again, I’m taking your room. I can’t sleep with that thing in here,” he declared with deep conviction.  
  
“I’m sure you’ve slept in many rooms with spiders in them before in your life, Richard.”  
  
“I didn’t want to hear that.” He jittered in place. James suppressed a sigh. Carefully, he got the card under the spider, pressing it up against the lip of the jar. Slowly, he lifted both at once, and then inverted them together, not letting any gap appear between the card and the glass.  
  
Richard made a sound like a suppressed squeak.  
  
“Now you do sound like a hamster,” said James, to distract him and to get a little of his own back. His knees were starting to hurt, even though the carpet was fairly soft.  
  
“The lid, the lid, the lid,” said Richard. He was back on the bed; the springs creaked rhythmically.  
  
“You are insufferable.” James let the card balance on its own. The spider stood on the side of the jar in that gravity-defying way of arachnids. James lifted the lid carefully, and in one swift move knocked the card free (Richard yelped) and fitted the lid down. It notched into place, and he gave it a few deft twists. The spider ran in a circle that ended on the floor of the jar, its front legs waving angrily.  
  
Richard let out a huge sigh of relief and plopped to sit on the edge of his bed, which let out a groan. “You caught it!”  
  
“Did you ever have any doubt?” James shook his hair back; he was breathing a bit harder than he should be, and his hair was starting to get sweaty. “Here. Safe and sound.” He held the jar out towards Richard as he rose. Predictably, Hammond leapt up and backwards onto the far edge of the bed in one smooth, perfectly athletic move that James could never have hoped to copy, and wouldn’t have tried.  
  
Hammond bounced on the edges of his feet nervously. “That’s all right. I’ve seen it close enough. Thank you very much, that’s all James. You can take that with you. Goodnight!” He made shooing movements with his hands.  
  
James laughed. “Goodnight, Hammond.”  
  
He glanced around the small room, from Richard’s messy bags to—yes, there it was—the remnants of a candy bar. “Eating it bed, are we?”  
  
“I was starving.”  
  
“You must have been.”  
  
“Well, you ate those peanuts.” He hopped off his bed. James noticed he was wearing blue striped pyjamas just slightly too long for him, their cuffs pooling around his skinny, bare ankles.  
  
It was both endearing and frustrating when he wouldn’t wear clothing his own size. He seemed to take it for granted he could wear baggy or too long things if he wished, and yet still be annoyed when people called him short. He made himself look short by accentuating it; sometimes he looked like a little kid wearing an older brother’s clothes.  
  
“Richard,” said James, and put down the jar on the carpet. He moved towards him, not even certain what he was doing until Hammond backed up a step.  
  
“What?” He sounded uncertain, and his eyes were large again, big pools of chocolate-brown nervousness. “James?”  
  
“Sit down,” said James, and knelt and began to turn up Richard’s cuffs. He felt Hammond relax slightly. James was careful not to touch his smallish bare feet. Everything about Richard seemed small sometimes; but his spirit, his whole inner being, was so very large that it was always somehow a surprise to notice. And, of course, he was perfect; physically, he was just simply perfect, no matter his size.  
  
“What did you think I was doing?” James asked, looking up, brushing back his hair. And then... oh. Richard was blushing, his cheeks flushed and hot with embarrassment. His face was so very expressive without saying anything.  
  
“Ah, I’m sorry, Hammond.” He got awkwardly to his feet, pulling himself up with the help of the bed. His knees cracked. He had the sudden, awkward desire to reach out and touch Richard, to comfort him. And James didn’t much like touching people, ever.  
  
“It’s not your fault,” mumbled Richard. “Sorry.”  
  
The slight bulge showed in his pyjama trousers that he wasn’t entirely unaffected by what he’d imagined James doing.  
  
“Did you think I was going to suck your cock?” enquired James, grinning in spite of himself.  
  
“No!” Richard’s reply was hot, indignant, and too fast.  
  
“Unclothe you and gently sodomise you into the bed?” suggested James wickedly, grinning. He couldn’t help it. Richard’s embarrassment was rich and enjoyable.  
  
“You’re the one on about ‘man-love,’” growled Richard, surging to his feet. His eyes sparkled hard as diamonds now, and yet he still looked somehow so vulnerable that it wrenched at James’ insides, softly, the way it so often did.  
  
Jezza and the Hamster never seemed to pull any punches in their efforts to humiliate James and make him look foolish on camera. And yet he took it, so often he took it, pulling his punches in return, because it was Jezza’s show and he had to, and because he couldn’t really turn on Richard either, because—because he couldn’t bear to hurt Hammond. There were so many ways and times when he could have done so easily, but somehow, it was almost always easier to take that wicked smile that meant Richard had got the better of him yet again, than it was to let himself hurt Richard back, to find and repeatedly press the buttons that would wipe that wicked smile off his face.  
  
“Sorry.” Richard wrapped his arms around his chest and sort of hunched there miserably. It was unlike him; he usually stood absolutely as tall as he could, looking vaguely proud of himself, and as if trying to be taller by sheer force of personality and willpower. Now he looked small and miserable and hunched in on himself. “You took care of the spider before it could sting me, so what am I complaining about?” He turned away, reaching up to rub his nose absently, as if it itched.  
  
Oddly, James remembered something he’d read once, that when a man touched his nose he was thinking about sex. He hadn’t believed it—hokey mumbo jumbo—but he hadn’t forgot it either. James didn’t forget things he learned, even strange and useless theories about sublimated sexual thoughts. He certainly never paid any mind to the ones about men and large, fast cars. Even some women liked large, fast cars. They couldn’t be compensating for small penises any more than all men who liked fast cars could be.  
  
“Richard.” He reached out and touched that shoulder, softly, Richard’s distress bringing out his gentleness more than anything else could. “Come on, it’s all right, mate.”  
  
And then Richard was, somehow, and without his asking, in James’ arms. He pressed there large as life, hot and breathing hard, face pressed against James’ shoulder as if he wanted to hide there forever. There was a miserable little hitch in his breathing, and he swallowed audibly. His hands squeezed James’ dressing gown and through it, his pyjamas, wrinkling them, crinkling them out of shape.  
  
James was alarmed, uncomfortable with the close contact—it made his heart jump, made him want to automatically step back—but this was Richard, Richard without his smile and not trying too hard, just raw and aching and vulnerable, clinging to him, and James didn’t know _why._  
  
Gritting his teeth, forcing himself not to let go or shame Richard, he brought a hand up and rested his arm around Hammond’s back in a loose embrace. His other hand hesitated then rose towards Richard’s head.  
  
The messy hair was soft, soft as it looked. He stroked Richard’s hair back as if comforting a small animal, and really, that made it easier. James was rather good with animals, and they didn’t give him that crowded, sick, claustrophobic feeling that people sometimes did. He stroked Richard’s hair tenderly as if he was a small, distressed dog and murmured, “Never mind. Never mind.”  
  
Richard gave him one last squeeze, so tight James’ ribs hurt. Then he released James and stepped back. Caution mixed in Richard’s gaze, along with that sort of wounded-elk look in his big brown eyes. James wished he could turn on another light so he could better see and interpret the myriad expressions running across Hammond’s face.  
  
“Sorry, mate,” said Richard, and cleared his throat.  
  
“Perfectly all right, old chap. Think nothing of it,” said James. Richard cracked the hint of a smile at the sound of his voice, so proper and old fashioned. James did become more old fashioned, both when he was a bit confused (such as at present) and when he was really quite happy.  
  
“I guess I was just... stressed about today. You know. Everything.” Hammond shrugged, waving his hands vaguely. “A bit scary.”  
  
“Yes, rather.”  
  
Richard smiled again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, and looked up at James, his expression easier and open now, vulnerable in the way only he could be. “Thanks, though. And don’t worry, I won’t use you as a giant teddy bear too often.” He slid his feet under the covers and stretched out, pulling the sheet up to his chin.  
  
James stood flummoxed, still as Lot’s wife. He’d had the sudden mental image of Richard Hammond using him as a teddy bear, and found it really rather shockingly pleasant: Hammond wrapping his lithe body round James, keeping him warm, keeping him company, trusting him utterly. Bloody hell.  
  
“Goodnight,” said Richard, trying and failing to suppress a yawn. “And thanks again, about the spider.”  
  
Oh yes. The spider. He looked down to see the peanut jar with its inhabitant running in a circle around the inside of the jar. Running in circles: that was what you did when you didn’t know what the hell was going on.  
  
“Goodnight,” said James, because really, there was nothing else to say. He dipped to pick up the jar, holding it with the tips of his fingers equidistant from one another around the rim, or at least as near as he could get. As he passed the edge of Richard’s bed, he reached down and gave Hammond’s soft brown hair a gentle rustle.  
  
Richard looked up at him and smiled. With his large sleepy eyes so friendly, and the sheet pulled right up under his chin (as if that would protect him from future hordes of spiders), he looked like a little kid tucked in for the night. As if he might be wearing footed pyjamas with cartoon characters on them underneath that sheet. James felt bad for even momentarily thinking of him in a sexual sense, and he brushed irritably at those thoughts like cobwebs. It was too confusing anyway; best just to push it aside.  
  
Hammond was yawning hard by the time James got the door shut behind him. He padded down the hall with the spider. It was no good keeping it until morning. If he didn’t release it now, it wouldn’t have enough oxygen to survive the night, and then what was the point in saving it?  
  
James would join Jeremy with (or at least listen in tolerant sympathy to) rants about Health and Safety and the Greenpeace Brigade, but when it came down to it, of course he believed you should respect the world. You lived in it, you should respect it. He thought a lot of the complaints they got were a bit ridiculous, just looking for trouble. There were different ways of respecting the world, not just one approved way that gave you a right to be smug. But all the same, he was fairly certain no one would have known what to make of him rescuing a spider and setting it free outdoors.  
  
Well, he knew what Jezza would make of it; call him a big girl and laugh at him... endlessly.  
  
But Richard hadn’t blinked an eye.  
  
James’ knees cracked as he knelt outdoors in the hot, buggy air. Even at night it wasn’t silent here. Moths and beetles flung themselves against the glass of the hotel’s lights, making little dinging sounds against the glass, dying or coming back and trying again to kill themselves. The heat still hung heavy and oppressive with humidity, as though with intent to kill.  
  
In some ways, America was rougher than he ever thought it would be. He had a new and somewhat fearful respect for the people who lived in “the colonies,” as Jezza liked to say. They must be a hardy people to survive this heat, even if it did turn some of them very angry or into gun enthusiasts.  
  
He unscrewed the lit and tilted the jar carefully. When the spider didn’t run right out, but instead waited at the back of the jar waving its pedipalps, he tapped gently at the bottom of the jar. The spider slid out and stood on the paved lot, still and stunned. Perhaps the heat was really too much for it, too, and it was actually only adapted to live in the hotel environs.  
  
Either way, James rose and walked back into the cool of the hotel without it, screwing on the peanut jar lid. He was already sweating again. A hearty folk indeed.  
  
#  
  
He slept well that night, something settled for him even if his conscious mind didn’t understand it. Like Napoleon, he shut all the drawers in his mind and went to sleep. He slept deeply and well in the gently humming air con.  
  
When morning came, he ate eggs and bacon and listened tolerantly to Jezza’s jokes about fat Americans and their eating habits, even as Jezza tucked his own less than svelte physique up against the table and ate everything put in front of him. James watched with tolerant amusement as a Richard made scrunched-up faces and, as usual, ate only cereal. He resisted the urge to coddle Richard or try to get him to eat more, or to tell Jezza to eat less. The thing about friends was that you accepted one another, didn’t try to change each other.  
  
Except of course for humour, especially onscreen. Fortunately there were no cameras on them at breakfast.  
  
Richard didn’t act any different this morning, except he flashed James a quick, secretly grateful grin at one point, and then stretched, standing as tall as ever he did or could. James watched the play of his muscles under his shirt and jeans, watched without judgment or condemnation or envy, simply seeing what was _there._ He thought perhaps sometimes it was easier to look at Richard as childlike, with his enthusiasms and big grin and short stature, than it was to acknowledge and accept his utter masculinity, and admit that he was still appealing. He was appealing in a way that was usually reserved for children or puppies absolutely enchanted with life and eager to live. Yet he was a fully mature man as well. It was easier to hold one imagine in your mind than both at once.  
  
Jezza nudged him. “Getting an eyeful?” he leered, chortling, and then raised his napkin and tapped his lips gently, almost daintily, raising an eyebrow.  
  
James ignored him.  
  
Richard smiled and stopped stretching, and bounded over to join them. Breakfast over, he seemed content to fall back into his role of good cheer and hopefulness. “Let’s get going before it’s any hotter!”  
  
“Yes, let’s,” agreed James. “Since my air conditioning is no longer working...” He gave them both a stern look, and, predictably, they busted up giggling like schoolboys. “It’s impossible to talk to you two,” he said, and left the table with dignity intact.  
  
There, things were back on an even keel with Jeremy and Richard laughing at him. It was less confusing than Richard’s utter trust in him last night had been. And, if it was also less flattering, he knew the rest of it was still there, to piece together in the future.  
  
Somehow, even though Richard was laughing at him, they shared a secret, too: because Hammond trusted James completely not to tell Jeremy about the spider. And that was really rather a lot, when you thought about it.  
  
He could figure the rest out later; this was enough for now.  
  
  
  
  
  
(fin)  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I had fun trying to write James' voice, and trying to use slightly old fashioned or non-standard English for him ('mobile telephone,' never 'mobile'), etc. Also, trying to express how I see him as averse to touch and sometimes struggling a little bit with human interaction, but still warm, decent, and tender.
> 
> Also, James' worry/guilt are slightly inspired by some things he says in this article, where he seems worried about really hurting Richard Hammond with his remarks: http://www.express.co.uk/posts/view/349974/James-May-reveals-why-Top-Gear-has-to-reach-the-end-of-the-road


End file.
